


Drink With Me (to days gone by)

by homoeroticmisogyny



Category: Homoerotic Misogyny (TV), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Hurt No Comfort, enjoltaire - Freeform, i cried writing this i didnt want my babies to die lol, i post more fluff on tumblr soooo, please stop me, stop me, they literally are enjolras and grantaire kinnies what r u gonna do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29328831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticmisogyny/pseuds/homoeroticmisogyny
Summary: “You believe in nothing.”Issa seems to frown at this, dark eyes narrowing before darting to the mug in her hands. Half empty- never half full- she raises it to Max mirthlessly.“I believe in you.”-Issax Enjoltaire AU
Relationships: Isabel "Issa" Banquo/Max Theodore Enjolras
Kudos: 5





	Drink With Me (to days gone by)

“She’s asleep again.”

June nudges Lucy’s shoulder, pointing across the cramped and dimly lit cafe to a table in the corner, pressed up against the stone walls. It would almost be unoccupied, what with how the waning sunlight can barely touch it, but Issa sits, slumped over the rough wood, mug- presumably drained of wine- still hanging loosely from her hand. Lucy frowns.

“Again? You’d think Max would ban her by now.”

“Max doesn’t care what you do during his meetings,” Elena says from across Lucy, resting on her hand. “He hasn’t kicked Audrey out either, and she’s more of a nuisance than… well, the sleepyhead over there.”

“Right now, anyway,” June points out. A few other members of the club start to file out, Max standing at the bar, hand on his hip and going through his plans one more time. June nods in his direction. “You’re gonna pretend that Issa’s loudmouth doesn’t irk him? Even a little? I wouldn’t be surprised if he likes it better when she’s passed out in the corner.”

Lucy shrugs. “I guess.”

“Let’s go, come on,” June says, standing and looking at Lucy and Elena, Lucy still eyeing the corner. “What?”

“Shouldn’t we… I dunno, do you think we should wake her up?”

Audrey passes by then, tapping Elena in the middle of her back, startling her. Elena frowns, about to snap back, but Audrey gives her a lopsided grin, looking at Lucy. “Don’t bother. Leave her.”

Lucy nearly argues, but Audrey silences her again, gesturing for her to come along. “Better spending her time here than out on the streets.”

-

When Issa wakes up, the sun has finally set on the cafe. Max sits a few tables away, reading, a candle flickering beside him. The light of the flame dances across his face, highlighting nose, cheekbone, eyes, cropped hair- Issa sighs, stretches forward like a cat.

“It’s you,” she observes eloquently, and Max looks up from his papers to frown at her. 

“It’s me,” he replies, about to go back to reading, but Issa puts her mug down on the table, the noise deafening in the silence of the backroom, he looks up at her to scowl, but there’s undue tenderness in what he can see of her eyes, so he pauses. “It’s me. What about me?”

“Oh, well, I thought you’d have left by now, is all. Surprised you stuck around.”

Max stands and walks over, leaning on the backrest of the chair across from Issa, who moves back- the action would have been an accommodation of space if not for the space already between them. She’s apprehensive. Tentative. She is prey, but Max can’t see himself as the predator. He frowns. 

“I didn’t stay for you. I was reading. Planning. This city won’t go up in flames without us to crack down on it.”

“Crack down,” Issa sneers, looking into her mug. “You really think you’re infallible, Maximilian?”

“Don’t.”

“Maximilian, Apollo. You think you’re immune to disappointment?” She gestures grandly with the mug, very nearly hitting him in the chest. Her eyes dart over to apologize, but he hasn’t noticed so she goes on. “You think that the world would fold to your will? Would that it could. Would that life would treat you how I do- kissing the ground at your feet, drinking in your gaze. Did you know, Max, that your eyes make me more drunk than any wine I’ve ever had? 

“I wish, I wish upon every star that twinkles in the sky- the stars that remind me so often of you- that your meticulous planning results in a victory, but I am not blind. I am grounded, I live on earth, not upon your Mount Olympus, and I have seen men for the staggering monsters that they are. I, myself, am a staggering monster, and not even a man!” She laughs, but there is no joy behind her eyes. “I will sit, and sleep, and whine in your meetings for as long as you’ll have me, but I cannot help. I won’t allow myself to be responsible for your fall, Icarus. I must be the ocean, to catch and drown you in my saltwater tears.”

Max slams his hand on the table. “Be quiet. I don’t need to hear you tear me apart. Do you gain this confidence when nobody is around to hear?”

“No! No, when nobody is around I am utterly miserable, wallowing in unending agony!” She grins coyly up at Max, who regards her with thinly veiled disapproval. “I am silent when I am alone. You alone have the privilege of hearing my wild beliefs.”

“You believe in nothing,” Max says, and a beat passes.

Issa seems to frown at this, dark eyes narrowing before darting to the mug in her hands. Half empty- never half full- she raises it to Max mirthlessly.

“I believe in you.”

A silence, a painful, sweeping silence fills the space between them as Issa holds the mug to him, an offer that she is certain will be rebuked, but as she moves to put down her hand, he takes it from her, softer than she’s ever felt him.

His fingers brush her palm and a warmth fills her chest, floods her cheeks, more than alcohol has done for her, and she feels both blind and like she can see colors that the human eyes were not meant to, every color in the world. It explodes in her vision so that she cannot see Max, tender, putting his lips to where she had put hers on the rim, draining it of its contents. He places it on the table in front of her.

“Sleep,” he says quietly, looking down. “Sleep here, if you must. I’ll fetch you a coat to keep you warm. You’ve had enough to drink. Sleep now.”

So, with soft eyes and a smile that cannot rub itself off her lips, Issa puts her head back down, pillowed by her arms, and fades into sleep with the ghost of Max’s hand on her palm.

-

In several days, she finds that she lives in a loop, shooting awake to the sound of boots on hardwood floor, mug clattering from her hands as she stands and sees, across the room, Max in front of a window, defiant and proud, and a number of guards with guns pointed at him. The smell of dust fills her lungs, blood and wood shavings, tears that she does not realize she is crying- she’s never been good at stopping herself- and with a bolt of energy, a spark of belief that she has never before felt, she announces to the guard that she is a part of the revolution. She, too, had planned. Had pored over notes by candlelight. Had draped a coat around someone that she loved.

So, with soft eyes and a smile that cannot rub itself off her lips, Issa raises her chin and reaches for Max, fading into sleep with his hand resting securely in her palm.

There is no better way to fall.


End file.
